Forces group which trains its people to go for head-shots.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t agree with the way he was trained,’ said the Colonel as Cramer put a forkful of eggs in his mouth and swallowed without chewing. ‘Remember, he’s always very close to the target. Within ten feet, often closer. At that range, head-shots are less chancy.’
Cramer shrugged and stirred his eggs again. They were good scrambled eggs, rich and buttery with a hint of cheese, but he had no appetite. ‘It’s a question of training, though,’ he said. ‘If it’s drilled into you to kill one way, it’s damn difficult to do it any other way.’
‘We can talk that through with the profiler when he arrives,’ said the Colonel, placing his knife and fork together on the plate. As if by magic, Mrs Elliott appeared and whisked it away.
‘Profiler? What’s the deal there?’
The Colonel wrapped his hands around his steaming mug. The dining hall was cavernous and the propane heater at the end of the table provided little in the way of warmth. ‘The man we’re looking for is a professional assassin, there’s no doubt about that. That’s how the police would look at it. A psychiatrist might take a different view. He could look at him as a killer who keeps killing. A serial killer. And serial killers develop patterns. By analysing those patterns we might be able to build up a picture of what makes him tick. The FBI has a team of specialists based in Quantico who profile serial killers for police forces around the country.’
‘And one of these profilers is working on our killer?’
‘The FBI did the initial profiling, but now we’ve got a guy who used to work for the Bureau helping us,’ said the Colonel. ‘Name of Jackman. He used to be one of their best operatives, now he runs a private profiling agency in Boston.’
Cramer swallowed another mouthful of eggs without chewing. ‘A private serial killer profiler?’
‘He offers recruitment advice to companies, stops them hiring bad apples. He gets called in to help movie stars with problem fans, stalkers and the like. And he’s helped resolve several kidnapping cases where the police haven’t been called in. Some of the biggest insurance companies use him.’
Cramer frowned. He washed his eggs down with his tea. ‘I don’t get this, Colonel. Why isn’t the Bureau helping us?’
‘The FBI have less than a dozen profilers on staff and a single manager and they’re on a tight budget. They do a total of about eight hundred profiles a year but they have to turn away at least two hundred. The Bureau’s total budget for profiling is just over a million dollars a year, despite all the publicity the unit gets. They don’t even have the time to do written profiles on a lot of the cases they handle — they offer advice on the phone to law enforcement agencies all across America. But Jackman can give us as much time as we need. He’s had access to all the case files for the past three months. I want you to meet him before we put you in place.’
Cramer put down his fork. The bulk of his scrambled eggs remained untouched on the plate. ‘What will he be able to tell me?’
‘He might be able to give you an idea of what sort of man the killer is, give you a profile so that you recognise him when he moves against you.’
Cramer smiled thinly. ‘Moves against me? You mean tries to kill me.’
‘Whatever. It’ll give you an edge.’
‘I’ll take whatever I can get,’ said Cramer. He rubbed his stomach.
The Colonel leaned forward, concerned. ‘Are you okay?’
‘A bit sore, but nothing like as bad as it’s going to be in a few weeks.’
‘There’s a doctor coming later. He’ll give you a check-up.’
‘I’ve been seen by experts, Colonel. I’ve had all the second opinions I need.’
‘All the same, I want him to look at you. He might be able to prescribe something for the pain.’
Cramer shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Painkillers will just slow me down. Besides, the pain lets me know I’m still alive.’ He pushed the plate away and drained his mug.
They both looked over at the door as they heard footsteps in the hallway. A short, portly man carrying a large briefcase entered the dining hall, walking quickly as if he was behind schedule. He was wearing a dark blue blazer and black slacks and his shoes gleamed as if they’d just been polished. The Colonel stood up. ‘The doctor?’ asked Cramer.
‘The tailor,’ said the Colonel.
‘A tailor? What the hell do I need a tailor for?’
‘The man whose place you’ll be taking wouldn’t be seen dead in clothes like yours, Joker.’
The tailor put his briefcase on the table, opened it and took out a tapemeasure and a small notebook. ‘Up, up, up,’ he said to Cramer, talking as quickly as he walked. Cramer got to his feet and held out his hands to the sides. The Colonel smiled as the tailor busied himself taking Cramer’s measurements and scribbling them down in his notebook. ‘Three suits, we said?’
‘That’s right,’ said the Colonel. ‘All dark pinstripe, double breasted, no turn-ups. A dozen shirts, all white, double cuffs. Socks, underwear, a selection of casual shirts and trousers. Conservative.’
‘Of course, of course,’ said the tailor, kneeling down in front of Cramer and deftly measuring his inside leg.
‘And an overcoat,’ said the Colonel. ‘Cashmere.’ Cramer raised an eyebrow. ‘Quality shows,’ the Colonel explained. ‘Especially when you get up close.’
The tailor measured Cramer’s arms, his waist and his chest. ‘Which side will you be carrying?’ the tailor asked Cramer.
‘Carrying?’ repeated Cramer, confused.
‘Shoulder holster,’ said the tailor.
‘Left side,’ said Cramer.
‘Good, good.’ The tailor turned to the Colonel. ‘What about accessories?’ he asked. ‘Belts, ties, cufflinks?’
‘I’ll leave that up to you,’ said the Colonel. ‘Bring a selection.’
‘Certainly,’ said the tailor. ‘Certainly.’
‘And you can supply shoes?’
‘Of course, of course.’ The tailor looked up at Cramer expectantly.
‘Ten and a half,’ said Cramer.
The tailor made a note, stood up, picked up his briefcase and left.
‘Regular whirlwind,’ said Cramer, his hands still out at his sides.
‘He puts the guys in Hong Kong to shame,’ said the Colonel. ‘He’ll have it all ready within forty-eight hours.’
‘And I get to keep them after it’s all over?’
The Colonel began to reply, then he realised that Cramer was being sarcastic. He shook his head, almost sadly. ‘I’d forgotten why they called you Joker,’ he said.
Cramer shrugged and sat down again. ‘So when does it happen?’
‘A few days. There’s still some preparation to be done.’
‘Just don’t leave it too long,’ warned Cramer.
